


When I Was 8

by ficdirectory



Category: The Fosters (TV 2013)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Cerebral Palsy, Depression, Disability, Disuphere Universe, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Gen, Parent-Child Relationship, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Siblings, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-05
Updated: 2018-07-10
Packaged: 2020-01-04 21:03:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18351680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ficdirectory/pseuds/ficdirectory
Summary: Find out what The Avoiders were up to when they were 8.





	1. Pearl: Thursday, July 4, 1991

Pearl can’t wait to get out of the car.  Driving around all day with Mom is boring.  And she’s already read all of the Babysitter’s Club books she brought with her.  They’re easy.  But they’re fun.  Plus, if they have summer reading lists for like numbers of books you read?  This will definitely put Pearl way ahead.

Mom parks.  It’s been a quiet ride except for the moment Pearl tried to compliment her singing voice.  Annie Lennox had been playing on the radio.  Mom was singing along.  Pearl was in awe:

“You have such a good singing voice,” she’d said.

“No, I don’t,” Mom responded, serious.

“Seriously, you do.  You could be on the radio.  You could be famous like Madonna.  That’s who Stef likes.  You know, Madonna, the singer?” Pearl had pressed.

“Yes, I know!”  Mom snapped.  “Just because you live under a rock doesn’t mean all of us do.  Leave Stefanie alone when we get there.  She doesn’t want an 8 year old tagging along after her.”

So, Pearl lugs her 16 books, her backpack, her notebooks and all of her pens inside the tiny cabin next door to Frank and Sharon Cooper.  Sharon’s fun.  Frank is crabby.  But Stef?  Pearl would like to  _be_  her.

“Don’t forget your overnight bag!” Mom snaps.  “I’m not gonna carry it.”

Pearl sighs.  She goes and finds the neon yellow bag with the neon pink trim.  It’s got all the faces of every single New Kid on the Block.  She hadn’t known about them or really cared about them until Mom got her a tape of theirs last month for her birthday.  She loves Cover Girl the most.  But she’s trying to get more into Madonna.

She listened to Mom’s Madonna tape when she wasn’t home.  Memorized all the lyrics to Like a Prayer.  But Pearl’s not as great a singer as Mom.  Or Madonna.  Pearl stops unpacking to look out the window.  Stef’s out there looking bored, hand on her hip, talking to her dad.  Stef has her hair styled the same way as Madonna.  Blonde curls to her chin.  With bangs.

Stef is 19.  Pearl would kill to be 19.  Okay, she wouldn’t really  _kill_.  But she’d definitely be willing to get in some trouble if there was like, a Zoltar machine and she could make a wish to be big.

Pearl tries to remember what Mom said about not bugging Stef.  She rereads  _Mary Anne Saves the Day_  because that’s the best Mary Anne book.  By the time Jenny Prezzioso starts to not seem like herself, Mom yells to Pearl.

“Pearl, you are not going to sit inside  and read all weekend.  Go outside!”

“Okay!” Pearl says, jumping up off the couch and out the door.  She tries to walk like she’s cool, like Stef.  But instead, she looks like she has ants in her pants, because who knows how to walk cool when they’re eight?

She finds Stef on the step of the cabin.  Leaning back.  She’s got sunglasses on.  Pearl should go get hers.  Oh, they’re on her head.  She puts them down onto her face.  Hopes Stef won’t notice the Snoopys on them.  

“Hey,” Pearl says, leaning one elbow on the railing and yelping.  

“Hey.  That’s hot,” Stef warns.

“I know.  I mean, I didn’t know.  I just found out.  So…  I like your Madonna hair.”

“Ha!  Pearl likes my Madonna hair,  _Mother_!”  Stef calls through the screen door.

“Pearl, please don’t encourage my daughter to look like a rockstar…” Sharon says, but she’s not mad about it.  She offers Pearl a beater to lick.  It has Cool Whip on it.  

“Thank you,” Pearl says.

“Hey, what about me?” Stef asks.

Sharon gives her the other beater, and walks back inside.

“So…” Stef says.  (Even the way she licks a beater is cool.  Pearl will never be this cool.)  “No Barbies?”

“Mom wouldn’t let me take them.  Too many accessories.” Pearl frowns.  She thought about sneaking her Mary baby Barbie doll with somehow.  But then she was pretty sure Mary would miss Katie.  And Theodore and Billy.  Her sister and brothers.  So Pearl left them at home all together.

“So…” Pearl leans back on her elbows, imitating Stef.  “No boyfriends?”

“There is this one guy…Mike?  But he barely knows I’m alive,” Stef breathes, disgusted.

“Ugh, I know.  Boy germs,” Pearl wrinkles her nose.

Stef blinks.  “Right.  What am I talking to you about boys for?  Aren’t you going into third grade or something?”

“Fifth,” Pearl says, proud.  “They kept letting me skip.”

“Wow,” Stef manages.  “I mean…wow…  If I was as smart as you, I wouldn’t be working at a corner store and babysitting, that’s for sure.”

“But that’s so cool!” Pearl gushes.  “I bet you have a lot of money saved up.”

“Not as much as you think…” Stef remarks.  “This takes work.”

“What?” Pearl asks.

Stef gestures to her face.

“Oh!  You mean your makeup!  My mom wears makeup.  I can’t yet…”

“Yeah?  Well, consider yourself lucky…” Stef mutters.

“Why?” Pearl asks.  “I can’t wait to be 19.  You can stay up as late as you want!  Have your own money.  Not have to listen to your mom.”

“Whoa there, little missy,” Sharon says, through the screen door.  “Just because Stefanie is 19 does not mean she doesn’t have to listen to me.”  She’s smiling, but Pearl still apologizes.

“I’m sorry,” she ducks her head.

“Come with me,” Stef invites, nodding to Pearl.

Pearl jumps to her feet.  They go down to the lake.  Pearl usually stays away from here, but with Stef she doesn’t feel so nervous.  They find Mom, smoking a cigarette.

“Got an extra?” Stef asks, and Mom taps out one and gives it to her.

Pearl’s mouth falls open.

“Don’t you get any ideas,” Mom warns Pearl.  

“I’m not.  Smoking’s bad for you,” she says.

“You could always go see if my mom needs help in the kitchen,” Stef remarks.

Dejected, Pearl walks away.  She can’t believe her role model smokes cigarettes!  She’s going to die like eight years earlier now.  That thought makes tears spring to Pearl’s eyes.  She had already cried all of her tears over the idea of Mom dying eight years earlier and now she has to deal with the idea that Stef is gonna die, too?

She sits on the steps alone, this time.  Tears drop off her face and onto her legs.  Her Never Going to Be Madonna Legs.

“What’s shakin’, bacon?” Frank asks, sitting beside her on the steps.

Pearl pushes her glasses up on her nose.  “What?”

“What’s all this?  What are the–uh–tears for?”

“They wash your eyes,” Pearl explains.  Maybe they didn’t learn science when Frank was a kid.

“No, I mean…  What’s upsetting you?” Frank asks, flustered.

“Human mortality,” Pearl tells Frank seriously.

“Damn,” Frank swears.  “Well, why don’t you help me at the grill?  Handling meat always makes me feel better…” he grunts, getting to his feet.

Pearl squints behind her sunglasses, cocking her head.  “Why?”

“Couldn’t say.”  But he extends a hand her way.  She follows.

She spends the next few hours forgetting all about Stef and Mom smoking by the lake.  She puts cheese on burgers.  Even though Frank said she might get to handle some meat to make her feel better, he seems to think better of it when she’s actually standing there.  She doesn’t mind being on cheese duty.  She loves cheese.  Thinks about eating it all.  The only thing that stops her is the idea that Mom might find out and Pearl might be in trouble.

That night, they eat the burgers and hot dogs Pearl helped with.  There’s strawberry fluff that Mom made.  And a cake that Sharon made.  And raw veggies and brown beans and chips.  Pearl eats a ton.  Wondering if she’ll ever gain any weight or always look like a beanpole.

That night, they all get in Frank’s boat.  Pearl shivers in her tee shirt and shorts.

“I’m cold,” she whispers to Mom.  

“Well, you should’ve grabbed a jacket like I told you,” she says, whispering back.

Except Mom never told her to grab a jacket.  

Pearl sits on one of the seats, huddled up as Mom rolls her eyes and laughs.  “Pearl, it’s not that cold.  It’s the 4th of July.”

But she feels something get draped over her shoulders.  Stef’s jean jacket.  “Here,” she says.  It smells like smoke and Christian Dior’s Poison perfume.  Like grapes times infinity.  Uniquely Stef.  

Pearl cuddles in the jacket.  “Thank you.”

Now that she’s warmer, Pearl watches the sky, ready for when it explodes with color.  Fireworks are so radical.  It’s even better when Stef puts an arm around Pearl’s shoulders.

“I still have to listen to my mom,” she whispers.

“It’s okay,” Pearl reassures.  “So do I.”

Stef kind of laughs.  “I wanted to stay home this year, but Dad wouldn’t hear it.  Mom either, so here I am…”

“It’s okay.  We can hang out together,” Pearl reassures.

“Does your mom need a babysitter?” Stef asks as the sky explodes with the grand finale.  

She’s so happy.  Then the sky goes dark again.  Then, Stef’s question really sinks in.

Pearl deflates.  Mom doesn’t have extra money for anything.  And Pearl left her saved allowance at home in the tiny cardboard box with the money slot.  She has about $30 saved.  Including birthday money.

“We can’t pay you,” Pearl says serious.

“What?” Mom budges into the conversation.  “Pearl, don’t talk about money, honey, it’s rude.”

“She  _asked_.” Pearl protests.

“I did,” Stef nods as they drive back to shore.  “Wanted to know if you could use a sitter.”

“You know, I really could.” Mom answers.

Pearl keeps her mouth shut and listens.  It’s not like Mom ever watches her anyway.  But Pearl’s not going to do anything to ruin the chance to get to hang out with Stef more…even if it is to get money for watching her.

For the next two days, there’s a note on the table when Pearl wakes up that says to go next door and Stef will watch her.  But at home, Pearl’s not allowed to go anywhere when her mom isn’t home.  She hangs out inside, making sure her bed is made and she is dressed and has eaten breakfast before peeking out the window at the cabin next door.  She won’t go over until she sees one of them go outside.

It takes two hours for Pearl to see Stef go outside with her book.  Then Pearl runs out to meet her.  “Hi!”

“Hey.  Thought you were gonna be here at like 8:00.  That’s what your mom said.”

“Oh.  I didn’t wanna wake anybody up.” Pearl admits.

“So, did you like the fireworks?” Stef asks.

“Yeah,” Pearl smiles.  Just saying it makes Pearl remember the warmth of Stef’s jacket and the arm around her.  The grape gum explosion smell and smoke all mixed together with the fabric.

“Do you think I can still get paid for those two hours even though you weren’t here?” Stef asks.

“I won’t tell,” Pearl promises.

For a while, it’s fun.  Stef reads aloud to her.  Stef drives them to the Taco Bell and they have lunch.  But after lunch, Stef goes back inside her cabin.  Pearl follows.  They’re showing Beverly Hills, 90210 all day.  Stef looks like this is where she wants to be.

After a while, Sharon comes in and nods to Pearl.  Pearl gets up and goes with her to one of the bedrooms.  In it, she finds an old Barbie case.  With Barbies from the ‘70’s inside.  Pearl plays by herself, giving them names, and stories.  

(They’re not the same as her Barbies at home, but at least they’re Barbies.)

All the rest of that day and all the next she plays with Stef’s old Barbies. She sees Mom at dinner time every day.  And on Saturday, it’s time to go.

Pearl watches Mom give Stef a bunch of money.  Pearl feels funny inside.  Knowing she really only watched her for two hours.  But Pearl promised not to say anything…so she just doesn’t.

“So, did you have fun?” Mom asks, bright.

“Sure.  Did you?” Pearl asks.

“I really did,” Mom says back.

Pearl settles in with her books again, and thinks, as long as Mom’s happy.  

If Mom’s happy, everybody’s happy.  

 


	2. Jesus: Friday, June 30, 2006

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Jesus was 8, he got adopted…only the night before, he got in trouble…so he thought maybe it wouldn’t happen after all…

Jesus loves summer.  It’s the best because no school.  Him and Mari can just run around outside forever with Lexi and Brandon and Aidan sometimes, too.  Jesus doesn’t really have any friends, except Mari.

That’s because kids at school just think he’s a bad kid.  He’s always in trouble for being out of his seat.  For talking.  For not focusing.  But it’s not his fault.  He just can’t.  

Now, he’s spraying the hose on Mari and Lexi and they’re screaming and laughing.  Brandon and Aidan dart through in their swim trunks.  Moms are out here by the garage watching.

Because it’s gonna be his and Mari’s adoption day tomorrow?  They get to pick family movie tonight.  So it’s The Pacifier time!  If Jesus can just convince Mariana that they don’t need to watch High School Musical again.

The hose is wrenched away from Jesus suddenly and he’s soaked.  His shirt.  His shorts.  Even his shoes and lucky pink laces.  Brandon’s got a mean smirk on his face.  Jesus narrows his eyes.  Goes into attack-mode.

Jesus jumps on Brandon, tackling him to the ground and jerking the hose away from him.  

“Hey!” Brandon yells.  “Mom!  Jesus is fighting!”

“No, I’m not!  You took my hose you freakin’ stupidhead!”  Jesus can’t call Brandon the names he really wants, or he’ll get grounded forever, so he’s stuck using baby ones he heard on Lilo & Stitch.

“Hey, Jesus!  Let go of the hose!” Stef insists, pulling him off Brandon.  “Let go of the hose, I said.”

Jesus glares at her, dropping it in the grass.  “I hope it gets your shoes wet…” he mumbles.

“Excuse me, young man.  You need to apologize to Brandon.”

“Sorry,” Jesus says, with an attitude, not even looking at Brandon.

“And apologize to me, please…the right way…” Stef warns softly.

Jesus drags his eyes up from the grass and looks into Stef’s.  “Sorry.”  He tries not to make it sound like he’s whining but he can’t help it.  

“Go change your clothes.  Now, please.” Stef directs.

Lena walks with Jesus in the house, like he’s some baby that can’t be trusted in there alone.  “I got it,” he grumbles, shrugging her hand off his shoulder.  

When Lena doesn’t immediately tell him to lose the attitude, Jesus takes the chance to explain his side.

“Brandon took the hose from me!  He didn’t even ask!”  Jesus can’t keep his anger in.  Sometimes, Lena’s on their side more than Stef.  Because she knows how Brandon can be an ass sometimes, but Stef just lets him do whatever.

Jesus is pretty sure that’s what it’s like having a bio mom who actually cares about what you do.

“Go change, please.  Put your wet clothes in the laundry room.  Then come back out here and we’ll talk.”

Jesus races through changing clothes.  Lena sends him back to pick up his wet clothes off his and Brandon’s bedroom floor.  He’s getting the feeling she doesn’t really wanna talk to him at all.

But she sits down at the kitchen table with him, after all.  “Jesus, when somebody takes something from you, you tell us.”

“Last time, you just said, ‘Work it out.’” Jesus pouts.  (It’s true.  How’s he supposed to keep track?)

“Working it out is not jumping on your brother in the yard,” Lena reprimands lightly.

“He’s not my brother,” Jesus sulks.

“He’s a human being.  And one of our expectations here is no violence.  Jumping on someone is violent.”

“What about taking their stuff?!” Jesus asks, indignant.

“The hose–”

“Without asking!” Jesus insists, jumping to his feet.

“We’re not talking about Brandon right now, Jesus.  We’re talking about you.  Sit down, please.”

Jesus does, mad.  He buries his face in his arms.  

“You didn’t meet three of our family expectations,” Lena explains, regretful.

“What?!”  Jesus asks, sitting up, fast.  “Three?!  You just said no violence!  That’s one!”

“I am right here.  I understand you’re upset.  But I need you to lower your voice, because yelling is disrespectful,” Lena explains.  

But nothing even makes sense at all.  Jesus wishes he were like Mari who could just turn off her talking if she got scared enough or decided not to, but for Jesus, it doesn’t work like that.

“I can’t help it!” he keeps right on yelling.  “It’s not fair!”

“Not meeting family expectations has consequences.  You know that.  So, because you were violent, you touched someone else without asking first and hearing yes, and you used inappropriate language–”

“What inappropriate language?!” Jesus yells.  “I didn’t!”

“Stupidhead isn’t appropriate,” Lena maintains.  

Tears are in Jesus’s eyes and he swipes them away, angry.  He’d been trying not to get in trouble by saying stupidhead and he’s in trouble anyway?  This is so not fair.

“That means, you sit by us outside.  No more playing with the hose.  And no choosing the movie.  We make unsafe choices, we what?” Lena cues.

“Lose privileges…” Jesus mumbles.

Jesus swallows his tears, because crying’s not going to change anything.  He follows Lena back outside.  Sits right between her and Stef.  Brandon’s on the other side of Stef.  He has to sit out, too.  But when he tries to say sorry Jesus just ignores him.  Watches Mari and Lexi and Aidan play.

When Mariana hears that Jesus can’t help pick the movie, she’s glad.  Jesus can see it.  She smiles and picks out High School Musical.  Jesus still has to sit between Stef and Lena on the couch.  Brandon and Mariana get to be on the floor.

“How come Brandon doesn’t have to be on the couch?” Jesus asks Lena.

“Brandon broke one expectation, love, not three.” Stef explains.

Jesus thinks about it.  Brandon was allowed to go back and play with the hose and Jesus wasn’t.  This is his third consequence.  So maybe when it’s all used up, everything will be normal again…

His brain screeches to a stop as Stef and Lena get up and start dancing with Mari to Stick to the Status Quo.  Picking the movie together was because of his and Mari’s adoption tomorrow.  If Jesus lost picking the movie, he probably lost being adopted, too.

Jesus can feel his body start shaking a little bit.  If he can’t get adopted that means he’ll have to get sent away.  All by himself, without Mari, even.  That never happened.  It was the scariest thing Jesus could think of.  But he did this.  He broke their family expectations.  

Maybe, he broke their family, even.

So, when the movie’s done, it’s time for bed.  He gets hugs and kisses from Stef and Lena.  They say good night.  He’s pretty sure.  They say it every night, but Jesus isn’t really listening tonight.  They’re not acting like he has to go yet.

Maybe tomorrow.

Jesus waits until Brandon is sleeping.  He gets out of bed.  Goes to the laundry room and puts on jeans and a sweatshirt and his shoes with pink laces that are still a little wet.  He walks by Mari’s room.  Her door is open like always.  She’s sleeping inside.

It wouldn’t be right to leave without saying goodbye to her.

“Bye,” he says softly.

Mariana squints at him in the hallway light.  “What?”

“Just bye,” Jesus insists.  Then, he keeps going down the hall.  Down the stairs.  The front door is locked with a high chain Jesus can’t reach without a chair or something.  So he goes to the back.

“What are you doing?” Mariana asks.

“Go back to bed, Mari,” Jesus complains, easing the back door open.

“No.  Where are you going?  We’re not allowed outside without adults, Jesus, remember?”

“Have fun getting adopted tomorrow,” he tells her and means it.  Feels like everything in him is being sucked down a ginormous drain.

“What are you talking about?  Jesus, stop.” Mari says.  She’s slid her way in front of the sliding glass door, arms spread, blocking it.  “You can’t leave.  It’s Jesus-and-Mariana.  We have to get adopted together.  Otherwise, I don’t wanna be adopted at all.”

“Yeah, you do, now move out of my way.  I’m not in this family, so it doesn’t matter if I break the expectations…” he warns, but his heart’s not in it.  Besides, he could never hurt his sister.

Mariana takes a deep breath.  Jesus thinks she’s gonna scream at the top of her lungs, but instead she calls, loud: “ _I really need some Reese’s Pieces_!”

Jesus is beyond confused until he sees Stef and Lena coming down the stairs looking alarmed.  “What is it, my baby?  What’s going on?” Stef asks.

It clicks then.  Mariana’s used her secret safe word.  Jesus never knew it before right now.  Mariana still doesn’t know his.  But Jesus is pretty sure she could guess it if she tried.  He likes knowing they both chose candy.

“Jesus thinks he’s not getting adopted and he’s not in this family,” Mariana reports, looking worried.

“Tattletale!” Jesus exclaims.  

“And he’s trying to run away, I think!”

“Stop tattling everything I do!” Jesus yells.

“Jesus?  Is this true?” Lena asks.

He turns on her.  “Like you don’t know!  You took away my privileges!”  

His throat and nose are burning but Jesus won’t cry.  It won’t help.  It never does.  He always gets sent away anyway.  But he never thought they’d send him away without his sister.

“Jesus.  Slow down, bud, okay?  You want Mariana to stay while we talk to you?” she asks.

He nods.  Thinks about his skateboard in the garage.  Or maybe his bike.  Wonders which one would take him farther away faster.

“You did lose privileges.  I told you which ones, right?  Do you remember?” Lena asks, her voice gentle.

“Sit by you, no more hose and no picking the movie,” he recites.  (Jesus remembers every bad thing he does.)

“Right.  So what makes you think that you’re not in this family?  That you’re not getting adopted tomorrow?  Jesus, I never said that.  I would never say that.”

“Picking the movie together was for getting adopted.  If I don’t get to pick the movie, I don’t get adopted.  Whatever.”  Jesus shrugs.

“Bud, you do get adopted tomorrow with your sister. You are in this family.  Getting to pick the movie tonight was never proof of you getting adopted.” Lena explains.

“It was to me,” Jesus says softly, not looking at her.

“Jesus,” Lena tries again.  “I am so sorry.  I should have explained that better.  You are being adopted tomorrow.  With Mariana.”

“But like…how sure are you?” Jesus checks.

“One-hundred percent positive,” Lena tells him.  “And family is not a privilege, honey.  It’s your right.”

“For you it’s a right,” Jesus corrects softly.  “For us, maybe, it feels like…more shaky.  Like…you guys know how bad we want a family.  How bad we wanna stay together.  And maybe if I was bad enough, you’d take that away, ‘cause of how you’re always saying in order for a consequence to be a consequence we have to care about losing it.”

“What are you saying, Jesus?” Lena asks.

“Nothing…just…I care about losing this.”

He swipes his arm roughly across his eyes again.

“You will never have to lose us, my baby,” Stef says.  “Now.  May I please cuddle you in my arms and cover you in kisses?” she asks.

Jesus takes a step back.  “No.  Maybe tomorrow.”

He reaches out for Mari’s hand, feeling relieved when her fingers grip his hand - lock to key.  

Halfway to the stairs, he turns and looks at Stef and Lena.  “Thank you for not making me go.  And for not taking away my adoption even though I was bad.”

“You’ve got a home with us forever, bud.”

“It’s not forever until tomorrow,” Jesus says, looking back over his shoulder.

Stef and Lena are following him and Mariana, maybe to tuck them back in - maybe just on their way to their own bed?  

“Sleep on it,” Lena encourages.  “Tomorrow will be here before you know it.”

“And then I’ll be your son forever?” Jesus checks.  (He’s let go of Mariana’s hand.  Stef is tucking her in again.  He’s getting tucked in by Lena.)  “You won’t forget about me?  Or give me away?”

“Not ever,” Lena insists.  

“Will you stay here?” Jesus asks, yawning.

“How about…we both promise to stay here?  No running away.  Even when we get scared.” Lena asks.

“If I really did run away, I’d never go by myself anyway.  I’d never go without Mari.”

“I know.  And I’d never go anywhere without you both either.  You’re my heart.  Both of you.”

“Okay,” Jesus sighs.  “Can you please stop talking so I can sleep?  So it can be tomorrow?”

“You bet.”

Jesus isn’t looking, but he can hear her smile.


	3. Mariana: Saturday, July 1, 2006

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Mariana was 8, she had her adoption day, but she was nervous about all the unknowns. What if their birth mom was in court and the judge changed their mind and made Mariana and Jesus go with Ana instead?

Mariana usually sleeps in on the weekend, but Jesus is knocking on her door over and over and over until she has to wake up and grumble “Come in,” just so he will, and stop knocking.

He bounds in and sits on her bed.  “We’re getting adopted,” he tells her seriously.

She blinks.  He’s right.  They are!  Today!  In bits and pieces, last night comes back to her.  Jesus trying to leave.  Thinking he wasn’t being adopted.  Wasn’t part of this family.  Stef said Lena would make sure and fix it.  It looks like she did.  It’s still weird they don’t let Mariana fix that stuff.  It’s still weird to ask Moms for help when a problem is too big or dangerous.  It still feels more normal just to deal with it themselves.

“So…you know we’re getting adopted together?” Mariana asks.

“Yeah,” Jesus nods.  “I had a dream that Vin Diesel came to our adoption.”

“Moms protect us now, weirdo, we don’t need Vin Diesel,” Mariana remarks, yawning.

“Okay, but he was there.” Jesus argues.  “What did you dream?”

“Us, all by ourselves.  Without Ana.  Or food.  Or anything,” Mariana confesses.

Jesus wrinkles his nose.  “Hate that one.  I have it when I’m hungry.  Are you?”

Mariana thinks about it.  Her stomach growls, and Jesus meets her eyes, knowing.

“Let’s go have breakfast,” he says.

But it turns out Mariana can’t eat very much because her stomach feels funny.  She’s nervous like a whole kaleidoscope of butterflies is inside her flapping their wings.

She doesn’t wanna dress up or have Lena do her hair.  She wants to just go to adoption court like this.  If they don’t want her with messy hair and Hannah Montana pajamas then oh well.

It takes Jesus begging her, “Please, be good,” for Mari to agree to put clothes on and to let Lena touch her hair at all.

They get out the door and into the car.  Start driving.  Jesus is looking out his window, and Brandon’s looking out his window.  Mariana’s squished between them.

“Did Brandon ever have an adoption day?” Jesus wonders.

“What?” Stef asks, smiling.

“No,” Brandon says.

“Brandon’s not adopted.  He never had to move,” Mariana points out.

“But, like, how did he know he never had to move?  Away from Stef and Lena and even Mike?”  Jesus looks around Mariana at Brandon.  “Didn’t you have an adoption so you’d know for sure?”

“Know what?” Brandon asks.

“That you got to stay,” Jesus says simply.

“No.  I just know,” Brandon says, looking out the window.

“Lucky,” Mariana breathes.

Jesus is quiet for one whole minute before he talks again:  “I think it’s happening because we’re eight.”

“What is?” Mariana asks.

“This.  Our adoption.” Jesus says, like it’s obvious.

“It’s not happening because we’re eight,” Mariana says back, sure.

“Why not?  It didn’t happen when we were seven or six or five or four.  So maybe it happened now because we’re eight.”

“It happened because the judge finally terminated Ana’s right to be our mom.  So now Stef and Lena get a turn.  To do better,” Mariana pitches her voice a little, over the traffic and the radio and Moms talking.

“What’s that, love?” Stef asks.

“You’re gonna do better than Ana at being our Moms, right?” Mariana checks.

“We will protect you and keep you safe.  Always,” Lena says.

“I still think it happened because we’re eight,” Jesus whispers.  He’s so stubborn.

Mariana gets pale when the courthouse comes into view.  She clutches Jesus’s hand.  When everybody else gets out of the car, she doesn’t.  Jesus can’t because she’s holding his hand too tight.

“Mari, we have to go.  I don’t wanna miss it,” Jesus insists.

“No,” Mariana says, pulling his hand even closer.  “What if the judge changed their mind and Mom–er–Ana’s inside and we have to go back with her.”

Jesus’s eyes get big.  “Red light!” he screams so it hurts Mariana’s ears.

“Guys, we gotta go inside, okay?  Everybody’s waiting,” Stef says, sticking her head in.  “What’s up?”

But Mariana can’t talk right now.  She really has to pee and she’s pretty sure they didn’t bring backup clothes.

“Mari said what if Ana’s in there?” Jesus shares seriously.  “And what if we have to go back with her ‘cause the judge said.”

“My babies, the judge said Ana cannot be your mom anymore.  She’s not allowed.  So she is not inside.” Stef says, like that fixes everything.  When it doesn’t fix anything.

Mariana squeezes Jesus’s hand to make their thoughts zoom from her to him.  She knows it works when Jesus says:

“But what if the judge changed their mind and we have to go with Ana?  That happened a bunch of times.  Court stuff is never good.”

“Well, this court stuff is very good,” Stef promises.  “Protection and safety, remember?  Mama and I would never make you go somewhere unsafe.”  She takes Jesus’s other hand, and because he’s still connected to Mariana, she has to get out, too.

“No!” Mariana screams.  

“Miss Thang,” Lena turns, concerned.  “What’s this?”

“You have to do what the judge says!  Even grownups!  So if the judge randomly changed their mind and wanted us to not go with you, you couldn’t protect us from that!  You couldn’t stop it!  So stop lying!  Please!  We’re not little kids!”

Mariana’s out of breath.  She’s sweating and her hair is sticking to her face.  She can’t let go of Jesus’s hand, in case he thinks about either running away from the courthouse or running inside it to check for Vin Diesel.

“Is that gonna happen?” Jesus asks, his voice low.  Wary.

“Now, what’s going on here, with my beautiful granddaughter and my handsome grandson?”

That’s Grams.  She told Mari and Jesus to call her Grams from way back when they were five.  She’s a professor at a college.  So she knows lots of things.  More, even, than Lena, who’s a teacher.  So, maybe she’ll know what happens if the judge is in a mood and decides not to let them be adopted after all.

“Mom, we really have to go inside,” Lena presses.

“Dear, why don’t you go with your father, Brandon and Stef?” Grams tells Lena.  “Mariana and Jesus and I will be in in a moment.”

Mariana feels a little better when it’s less people around.  

Grams offers Mariana some water, but Mari shakes her head.

“Who’s more powerful than a judge?” Mariana asks after a bit of just walking.  “A professor?”

Grams looks like she wants to laugh, but doesn’t.  “Why do you ask, love?”

“Because I need somebody in there more powerful than a judge,” Mariana insists.

Grams stops.  They sit together on a bench.  It’s hot.  Mariana finally sips some water.  

“Why is that?” Grams asks.

“Because what if the judge changes his mind?  And we have to go back to Ana?  Sometimes laws don’t work, you know?  People don’t follow them?  Like when foster parents were supposed to take care of me and Jesus but they dropped us off with the police instead.  Or a bunch of times when the judge said Ana could have another chance at being our mom…”

“But she shouldn’t have…” Jesus adds.

“What if the judge makes the wrong choice?” Mariana worries.

“Part of the judge’s job today is to ask you both if you want to live with Lena and Stefanie and have them be your mothers.”

“We do, but the judge doesn’t listen to us,” Mariana says.  “Only if we were lawyers.”

“Well, this is the very last step of a long process, my dears.  The judge is dotting all her  _i_ ’s and crossing all her  _t_ ’s.”

“So she can spell  _it_?” Jesus asks, confused.

“I just mean…for example…when you put together a puzzle?  And you get to that point where you have one piece left?  It won’t go in by itself, unless somebody helps it get there.  The last piece is the judge confirming with you both and Lena and Stefanie, that this is what you all want.  Then, she’ll sign her name, and that will be that.  But we must go inside first, so we can all do our part, to be sure you both are where you belong.”

“If she does change her mind, will you fight her, Grams?” Jesus asks seriously.

“She’s not going to change her mind.  You two don’t change your mind when there’s only one piece of the puzzle left, do you?”

They shake their heads.  “Usually we fight over it,” Mariana admits.

“Well, you can bet all the judges are in their chambers, fighting over this.  _‘I wanna finalize the adoption on those great twins!  No me!  No, I do!_ ”  Grams pretends to be all the judges, doing funny voices as she walks them into the courthouse.  “I bet you they’re having a race right now to see which one of them is the lucky judge who gets to be the one to sign their name to you two getting your forever family.”

Jesus is craning his neck.

“Honey, what are you looking for?” Grams asks.

“I wanna see them run in those robes,” he says, quiet.  Jesus is usually the one running around and loud but he’s nervous, too.  Mariana can tell.

They wait their turn and finally it’s time to go inside.  Grams flashes them a double thumbs up, for luck.  Jesus and Mari do it back.  Then they go in and sit at a big table with Stef and Lena.  The judge - a lady - asks Stef and Lena questions and then asks Jesus and Mariana if they understand that Stef and Lena are going to be their parents forever, and if that is what they want.

“Yes,” they say together, into the same microphone.  They are holding hands.  Mariana knows without looking that Jesus has his fingers crossed behind him right now, because she is doing the same.

“The minor children shall henceforth be named Jesus Gabriel Foster and Mariana Foster.”

The judge signs her name.  And Mariana’s looked and looked under every table, and by the door, but no Ana.

The judge says they can pick a stuffed animal but Mariana doesn’t want one.  It reminds her of the ones they were given whenever they had to move somewhere new.

They all take pictures together, even the judge, too.  Mariana and Jesus get to sit in the judge’s chair, even.  Mari hears it when Jesus asks, loud, “Aren’t you happy you won?” to the judge.

“I beg your pardon?” the judge asks, with a smile.

“Won?  You know?  Us?  You got to be the judge that adopted us to our parents,” Jesus explains.

“And…” the judge is still lost, Mari can tell.

“And aren’t you happy?” Jesus asks.

“I am.  Very happy.  Are you two happy?”

“Yes,” they chorus again.

They take family pictures again out in the lobby area.  Mariana’s favorites are silly ones.  And the ones with her, Jesus, and Moms - can she call them Moms now?

When they go out and have family pizza afterward, Mariana still kinda has that holding-your-breath feeling.  When Brandon says “Mom” to ask for money to play arcade games he says it so easy.  Like, just, “Mom.”  But they had called Ana that and she got that taken away from her.

Would the same happen again?  Would Stef and Lena forget about them?  Forget to love them?  Feed them?  Forget about everything.  Would they get their rights taken away, too?

Yeah, Mari and Jesus are safe now.  Sometimes they were with Ana, too.  So, Mari guesses the holding-your-breath feeling will have to last a little bit longer.  To see if they get kicked out, have to move again after all, and leave everything behind.

–

The very next month?  They move.  To a new brown house, on a street.  One secret part of Mari’s brain that still knows random Spanish words knows that it’s probably called Butterfly Street.

“So, that’s where they all went…” she comments under her breath, thinking about her adoption day butterflies.

Maybe they came here because they knew.  That someday, Mariana and Jesus would get to know what it’s like to move all together with their family.  Not alone.

She watches the door open and Jesus stick his head out.  “Mari, what are you doing?  Come on.”

“Okay,” she says, climbing the steps.  On the porch.  In the house.  Door closed.

Mariana leans against the heavy door, letting out a breath, finally.

Finally, feeling like everything is just right.


	4. Dominique: Friday, September 7, 2007

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Dominique was 8, she came home from third grade to the news that a boy from her very own city got kidnapped.

So far?  The first week of third grade has been spectacular -  _s-p-e-c–t-a-c–u-l-a-r_!  Dominique is the best speller in her class.  And she’s one of the oldest kids, too.  She’ll be nine next month.  Everybody else will be eight for most of the year.

Dominique likes being the oldest.  And the smartest.  Basically, the best.  She can’t wait to know if there’s any solos in music class.  Dominique will sing all of them.  (Well, she  _could_  sing all of them  _if_  Mrs. Markham needed her to.  Mom and Dad say it is possible to share with others  _and_ be the best  _at the same time_.)  Dominique’s still learning that.

She rides the bus home.  It’s loud, but so is Dominique.  She and her two besties, Jennah and Sharna, sing Disney songs the whole way home.  The whole bus quiets down to hear them.  They’re like stars.  When Dominique grows up, she’s gonna be a singer.

She has cheering after school, so no time for homework yet.  It keeps her busy til dinner time at 6:00 but dinner is running late.  Later.  Latest.  It’s 9 PM before they’re eating and the news is on.

Mom and Dad are quiet and tense.  Something must’ve happened.  But nothing any of the kids at school or cheer practice know about.  Dominique wonders what it could be.  But mostly she just digs in and eats her food - she’s so starving from spending all day doing stuff - it’s hard to readjust after summer.  Good thing there were snacks after cheering.  Four days in school this week is more than enough.  Dominique is so ready for the weekend.

“ _Nine-year-old Jesus Foster disappeared today, sometime between arriving here, at Anchor Beach Charter School at 8 AM and when school lets out around 3 PM.  He was last seen by his classroom teacher, in line to go to lunch, around 11 AM._ ”

Dominique does the math in her head.  Nine hours.  This kid who’s nine years old, like she’s almost nine?  How can nobody have seen him for nine whole hours?

“ _Jesus is son of San Diego police officer, Stefanie Foster.  Stefanie vows they will get their son back._ ”

“ _Jesus, it’s Mom.  If you’re watching, don’t be scared to call us, my baby.  Wherever you are, Mama and I will come and get you, okay?  We’ll find you_.”

“ _Lena Adams, Stefanie’s partner_.” News Rob says.

(Does he mean, like, police-partner?)

A Black woman with lots of curly hair blowing in the breeze holds a picture of Jesus and cries.  She tries to talk.  Can’t. The writing below her says  _Missing Boy’s Mother_.

(Wow.  Two moms.  Lucky.)

“ _Rob, do they suspect foul play here_?” Colleen, the newswoman on TV asks.

“What’s foul play?” Dominique asks, eating her mashed potatoes.

Dad raises one finger.  That means, hush, for one more minute.  Dominique counts to 60, while Rob answers Colleen that it’s hard not to suspect foul play, but that they are hoping for the best.

There’s a number to call with any information.  A tip line, they say it is.

Dominique tries to solve  _foul play_  with her vocabulary mind, by breaking it into pieces.  She knows what foul is and she knows what play is.

She checks.  Dad doesn’t have one finger up anymore.  He mutes the news now.

“Does that mean somebody might’ve played a nasty game?  Like a trick?” Dominique wonders.  “Like that Jesus kid?  Is he playing a trick on his parents?”

Neither one of her parents answer for so long, Dominique thinks of Googling  _foster + foul + play_ to see what will come up.

“No, babe,” Mom says finally.  “Foul play means they think an adult may have broke the law, or maybe lied to Jesus.  In a way that might mean he’s hurt somewhere.”

“Or dead?” Dominique checks, stunned.

“Yes.” Mom nods, sadly.

“But are they sure he didn’t just run away?  That could really just be what happened!  Kids talk about it all the time!”

“He has a twin,” Dad rasps in a strange voice.

“What?” Dominique asks.

“Jesus.  Has a twin.  Mom and I…went to school with some twins.  Royal and Rozariah?  As mad as he might’ve been at their parents?  No way he’d have run away without his sister.  Twins have a bond.  No way he’d mess with that.”

Dominique’s stomach sinks.  She wonders if the news said anything else about Jesus that she missed.

She wonders about Jesus’s twin.  Wonders about sending a card to her maybe, snail mail.  It might make her feel better, a little.  Getting mail always makes Dominique feel better.  

“Baby, I want you to listen to me,” Dad says.  “If somebody ever–”

“I know!  Don’t take any candy from strangers and don’t help anybody look for anything even a puppy!  Gran already told me!”  Dominique doesn’t wanna hear this.  She doesn’t wanna think about it happening to her.  It never would anyway.  She’s too smart for it to ever happen to her.

“Dominique,” Dad says softly, a warning.

“I’m sorry,” she apologizes.  “It makes me nervous.”

“What does, babe?” Mom asks, wrapping her arms around Dominique.

“Talking about it.  Thinking about a kid my same age like that,” she ventures.

“It makes us nervous, too,” Dad admits.  “But the best way we know to protect you is to have these conversations.  To let you know what to do.  Now, I’m glad Gran taught you about strangers, but I need you to listen to me very closely.”

“Okay…” Dominique hesitates.

It seems like Dad can’t do the talking after all, for this, so Mom takes over.  “Not everybody you meet is your friend.  Even if they act like it.”

“What do you mean?” Dominique thinks about Jennah and Sharna.  They’re her friends for real.

“What Mom’s saying is…there are some adults out there…  Who wanna trick kids.” Dad tries.

“Well, I’m smart.  Nobody will trick me.  Plus I know our address and your names and your cell numbers and everything.”

“Dominique?  Baby?  I know this is hard.  But I need you to listen to Mom right now,” Dad says, letting Mom have a turn again.

“If an adult ever tricks you.  Or grabs you and tries to put you in a car,” Mom says slowly.  “I want you to yell.  Make as much noise as you can.”

“What do I say?” Dominique worries.

“You yell, ‘Stranger!’ Mom coaches.  “You wanna try it?  Pretend Daddy’s a stranger?”

“Okay!” Dominique agrees.  She loves role playing.  Plus, Mom and Dad say it makes the scary things less scary if you’ve had a chance to practice them.  

Dominique is the loudest screamer. When Dad grabs her from behind she screams: “STRANGER!” as loud as she can.  Mom pretends to be a Good Samaritan that helps Dominique and keeps her safe.

“Now…” Dad cautions, looking sad.  “If that doesn’t work.  First, it is not your fault.  Say that.  _If somebody tricks me it is not my fault._ ”

“If somebody tricks me, it is not my fault,” Dominique repeats, serious.

He holds up two fingers.  “The second thing you do?  You listen.  Listen as much as you can.”  Three fingers:  “Third thing?  You learn.  Some of the things you learn, you won’t like.  But it’s important you learn as much as you can about where you are and who you’re with.”

Dominique wishes she had her journal right now.  She would write:

_1 - Not my fault_

_2 - Listen_

_3 - Learn_

“What’s four fingers?” she asks.

“Four fingers is the last one.  Tell.  When you feel like the moment is right.  You find yourself a safe person and you ask to use their phone.  You’re gonna wanna call Mom and me, but we’ll need you to call 911 and let them know everything you learned by listening.” Dad coaches.

Mom talks her through a script that says, “My name is Dominique Williams.  I’ve been kidnapped.  Please send help.”  

_4 - Tell_

Dad tells her to remember as much as she can from listening and learning.  License plates.  Street names.  People’s names.  That kind of thing.  Dominique has a strong memory.  So, she can do that.

“We want you to be prepared,” Dad tells her, still serious, “We don’t wanna scare you, but this happening right in our town?  Makes it very real.  And we want you to know what to do.”

“What about when they find me? 911?” Dominique asks.

“They might take you to the hospital.  Or they might wait with you until we can get there.”

“Why the hospital?  Will I be hurt?” she asks, afraid again.

“You might be,” Mom says.  “But even if not?  The hospital’s a safe place, okay?  We’ll come as soon as we know where you are.”

“You promise?” Dominique worries.

“We do promise,” Mom crosses her heart.  Dad, too.

“What if I get killed like that boy?” Dominique worries.

“Honey, if you listen and learn?  Do what you’re told every step of the way until you can find that safe person to tell?  You’ll be alive.  And that’s the most important thing for you to be.”  Mom reassures.  “And who says Jesus got killed?”

Dominique cocks her head.  “The news people.  You heard them.  They suspect foul play.”

“Right, but they’re not God.  Are they?” Mom asks.

Dominique shakes her head.

“And we have faith, don’t we?”

Dominique nods, shy.  

“So, let’s say a prayer for Jesus tonight, should we?” Mom asks.  “Send lots of love and strength his way?  So that he can get out alive.  And go home to his family.”

Silently, Dominique bows her head and squeezes her eyes shut.  She has her hands together, tight.  Holding her own hands as tight as she wishes to be able to hang on to Jesus’s.  She asks God send Jesus lots of love and strength tonight and however long so he can stay alive.  

That night, Mom reads her some of  _Jessi and the Dance School Phantom_.  And somehow?  The phantom in the dance school doesn’t seem nearly as scary as it did last night.  

(Dad was working last night, and tonight, he’s not in the mood to read  _Harry Potter_  with her.  It’s not really Mom’s thing, so Dominique lets her read old Babysitter’s Club books from when she was a kid.)

“Mommy?” Dominique asks, when the chapter is done.  “If it happens to me, will you look for me?”

“Yes, baby.” Mom promises.

“Will you go on TV like Jesus’s mom?” Dominique checks.

“I can’t promise that, but I’d put your face all over Twitter,” Mom promises.

“Stop it,” Dominique giggles.  “You don’t know about Twitter!”

“I do, too, know about Twitter.  And that’s where I’ll be.  Bothering all the people there with pictures of you.  So that if you ever go missing.  People will know your face.  I won’t let them forget you, babe.  Dad and I won’t, either.”

“Can I get a Twitter?” Dominique asks.  

“No, thank you, ma’am.  You may not,” Mom says, serious, but with a smile.

“But how will I know if you’re bothering people with pictures of me?” Dominique wants to know.

“You trust that I’m your mom.  And moms do whatever they gotta do for their babies.  Go to sleep now.”

“Wait.  Will you please stay?” Dominique asks.  “I’m scared.”

“Babe, I can’t hang out here all night,” Mom warns, holding back a yawn.

“But you just said, do what you gotta do.  Is that for now or later or what?” Dominique complains.  She’s tired, but doesn’t want to sleep alone.

“It’s for always,” Mom nods, cuddling up next to her.

Dominique closes her eyes with Mom’s arm safely around her, thinking about all the things she and Jesus have in common.  Their ages, almost.  Plus, they both have a Black mom (not the police officer).  Plus…well, there had to be more things than just that.  So, Dominique decides, they’re basically like twins, too.  Dominique can totally be a fill-in twin until Jesus gets his own real one back.

As she drifts off, Dominique wishes for Jesus to have a blanket.  And a pillow.  And his family back.  And to live happily ever after.

But even at eight years old, Dominique knows, happily ever afters are rare.  But maybe…just maybe…there’s one out there for Jesus.


	5. Levi: Saturday, April 14, 2012

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Levi was 8, his grandma died. What no one gets is, it was all his fault. Hanging onto his sister’s favorite toy helps, but only a little.

The funeral is today.  For Grandma Major.  (Because who has a funeral for somebody on Friday the 13th?  That’s just creepy.)  Good thing Mom and Dad know that.    

Levi thinks Grandma would appreciate him speaking up about it in case they did decide a funeral on Friday the 13th was a good idea, but lucky for him, they didn’t.  He can’t talk very much.  Especially now.  

Mom and Dad and Levi were just up here before.  For Spring Break.  Now, they’re back again.  It’s too soon.  Levi’s stomach hurts.  He holds onto Grumpy Bear - that belonged to his big sister, Pearl - it was her favorite toy.  Only Dad accidentally drove away with it in his car one time, when he moved away from Pearl.  He was sorry he did it.  Tried to send it back, but the mailman kept dropping it back off, Dad said.

So, now, Levi takes care of Grumpy Bear for Pearl.  It’s good to have a Grumpy Bear, to let him know it’s okay to be grumpy.  That’s why Dad got it for Pearl, and he said it’s even okay for Levi to be grumpy, too.

“How you feeling, son?” Dad asks, as they walk hand in hand together after they stand outside and look at Grandma’s coffin thing.  

Levi’s kinda confused why they don’t watch the burying, since that last part was even called a burial.  But Mom’s crying too much to ask her.

Levi jerks Grumpy Bear by one arm, bopping Dad in the leg by accident.

“Hey,” Dad stops walking.  Squats down in front of Levi.  “Talk to Daddy now.”

Levi’s lower lip trembles.  He feels like such a baby - like, way younger than eight - he thrusts Grumpy Bear out in both hands at Dad.

“You feeling grumpy?” Dad checks, sympathetic.

Levi nods, tears in his eyes.  

“Missing Grandma, I bet…” Dad guesses, bending down and groaning as he picks Levi up and holds him in his arms.

“I know you’re grumpy, but you know something?  Grumpy folks can talk.”

Levi shakes his head against Dad’s shoulder.

“Oh, sure.  They talk all the time about all the things they’re grumpy about.  So, you can, too, you know?”

Dad waits.  

But Levi still can’t talk.  His throat’s tight and burning like some fire got in it.

“That voice still work?” Dad pretends to turn a knob behind Levi’s ear, and he can’t help it.  A laugh escapes.  “Yes, sir, it does!  Would you look at that?  Now, what do you say we get some lunch?  Grandma’s favorite place?”

“Can we go home?” Levi asks, quiet.

Dad boosts Levi up a little higher.  “Well, once we have ourselves a bite to eat, we’ll head out.”

“I don’t wanna talk to no people…” Levi hedges.

“You know what, son?  I bet you Mommy doesn’t wanna talk to no people, either.  And neither do I.  So, we’ll just go, us three.”

“And Grumpy, too?” Levi asks, still clutching the bear by an arm.

“Well, of course.  Grumpy’s gotta eat, don’t he?”

“No…” Levi smiles a little.  “He doesn’t have a stomach.”

They get to the car.  Mom’s still crying some.  Levi hands her Kleenex, and gives her a hug.  Tells her, “I’m right here,” just like she does for him.  She’s still kinda banged up from before when the alarm went off at Grandma’s.  Levi doesn’t like to think about it.

All the bad things happening together like that.

He thinks of he text he sent Grandma Major two days ago:   _i feel sad from levi_

He thinks of how he broke the rules sending it to her at school even.  How he didn’t hear back.  How that night, Grandpa called and said it.  Grandma died.

Levi is pretty sure it’s his sadness that did it.

Dad says it’s okay to be grumpy but is it?  What if more and more people die until Levi and her are the only ones left in the whole world?  What if he has to go and live with her like Pearl did?

Mom blows her nose.  “What do you say we go to West Side Cafe?”  She tries to smile.

So Levi tries to smile, too, even though he’s not hungry.  He doesn’t tell Mom that.  

Better never tell Mom anything.  Or Dad.  That way they won’t die.  

They get him a ham and cheese omelet ‘cause they know that’s his favorite, but Levi only picks.  Mom and Dad try to tell him he’ll be hungry and it’s a long drive but he’ll probably never be hungry again.  He takes one bite to be sure it tastes good.  Another just to be really positive.  And a third, so he’ll remember it when they’re on the road for hours going home.

In the car, Levi searches through all of his Disney and Disney Pixar DVDs.

_Finding Nemo_.  No.  Nemo’s mom dies.

_Lion King_.  No.  Simba’s dad dies.

How come all these Disney movies have death in them?  Death isn’t good for kids anyway.

Finally, he settles on a newish one from his last birthday.  It was almost a year ago, but he still hasn’t watched this Disney movie, and Levi’s mission in life is to collect every Disney and Disney Pixar DVD and watch them all.

“ _The Princess and the Frog,_ ” he reads the title for Grumpy, who can’t read yet.  Then, he gives the DVD to Mom who puts it on.  Levi puts on headphones.  

It turns out?  This movie is the best possible one for a day like this.  Because Mama Odie is 197 years old.  She can’t ever die.  Levi is so fascinated.  He asks to watch the movie over and over and over on the drive home.  Mom and Dad let him because it keeps him occupied. He learns all the words to every song.   _Dig a Little Deeper_  is his favorite because Mama Odie sings it.  He also likes her pet snake, Juju, because he’s so nice and helpful.

The movie is a good distraction from the stress of his life.

–

They drive all the rest of Saturday, over night, plus Sunday.  They get back home in the afternoon.  Levi sees his backpack.  Remembers he has homework to do.  Thinks about his old phone shoved in the back corner of his bed by the wall and hidden by the bed post.

It makes him wanna cry.  Scream.  Throw things.  It’s throwing things that gives him the idea.  He goes to the shelf around his bed.  To the real live glass root beer bottle his dad let him have after he washed it.  Levi rips off a tiny piece of notebook paper, from Science, and who cares about that?

Writes in his tiniest writing ever:  

_dear pearl i am sad i am mad i am every thing i am no thing how come she did it i cant say any thing i cant tell dont tell dont tell dont tell. I cant tell or every one will dye and i will be alown may be with her, may be not. please if you no i am rating this come find me and we can tell dad together then i wont be as scared. Love Levi._

He curls the paper up tight as he can and drops it in the bottle.  It’s a brown bottle.  Dark brown with a label so you can barely tell there’s paper inside it.  That’s the idea.

Then Levi hides the bottle under his bed with the Other Phone.  

When he goes to bed that night?  He hopes both things will magically just be gone in the morning.

He does his homework.  So nobody will think anything is wrong.  

Not one bit wrong.

–

It’s 4:27 in the morning (Monday) and still dark and Levi just had the worst dream of his life.  Even worse than Bruce the shark on Finding Nemo chasing him.  He was back in Brainerd.  With her.  In the bathroom.  Except he fell from way high up first so it felt like he broke his entire body.  

Then she hurt him.  Like she did for real but worse.  In the dream, Levi made a noise like a moan, and a scream mixed together.

Mom comes.

Turns on his light.

Finds him with tears coming out of his eyes.  Wet PJs.  Embarrassing.

She just says “Come on,” gentle, and he does until she goes in the bathroom, turns the light on and waits.

Levi’s heart stutters in his chest.  His legs feel like Jell-O.  He falls down right there in the hall and starts crying super hard.  Because it was just a dream.  It can’t be real.  This can’t be happening.  Not with his mom, too.

“Hey,” Dad says, coming out in the hall.  “What’s all this?” he asks the way he always does.  Soft.  Kind.

Levi can’t stop crying.  But he can hear snatches of what Mom tells Dad, “regression”, “grief”, “sleepwalking.”

He’s only eight, but Levi knows none of those things are why.  And none of those things are true, not really.  He is awake.  He’s sad about Grandma but this is a different sad, and also, he hasn’t been mean to anybody so Levi doesn’t get why she’d say “aggression” anyway.

Dad picks him up, even though he’s all peed, and holds onto Levi.  

“It’s all gonna be just fine, you hear me?  Daddy’s here now.  Nothing’s as bad as all this, okay?  We’ll dry you off and you’ll be all fine again.”  Dad kisses his head.

Levi’s breath hitches.  He nods.  He’s starting to calm down.  

Dad takes him in the bathroom and lets Levi take off his own clothes.  Says it’s too late for a shower, so he just gives him one washcloth with warm water.  Levi stays behind the closet door in the bathroom and does it.  Then puts on dry boxers and new pajamas.

Washes his hands.  Doesn’t look at himself in the mirror.

When he gets back to his bed, Mom’s putting new sheets on it, and his Nemo comforter.

Levi gets in.  Finds Grumpy all the way down at the end of his bed, not peed, thank goodness.

“Now, you think you can sleep?” Dad asks, stroking Levi’s forehead.  “We had a busy few days.  And you got school.”

“Sorry I’m such a baby,” Levi mutters, feeling his face flood with heat.  

“The only kinda baby you are is  _my baby_.  And that is nothing to be ashamed of,” Dad tells Levi.  “You sure nothing else is on your mind, son?”

Levi shakes his head.  No way he can tell Dad now.  Ever.  He turns over and tries to sleep.

He only can, because Dad stays.

–

When he gets up in the morning, Levi’s extra tired, but he checks under his bed.  Usually monsters are under there, kids say.  But Levi knows the only thing under his bed?  Is proof of his monsterness.  

The Other Phone didn’t disappear overnight.  

Neither did the root beer bottle with his secret message to Pearl.  Both are still there.

Dad drives Levi to school and walks in with him.  He says it’s ‘cause he’s just gonna give the teacher a heads-up that Levi’s been having a hard time since Grandma died.  He says he’s gonna tell the teacher that if Levi needs him?  He’s allowed to call him anytime.  Dad already told Levi this, but Levi knows better now, than to break any of the school texting rules.

Like, look at what happened to Grandma ‘cause he did that.

Instead, Levi makes himself focus on all the stuff he has to learn.  Language is his favorite, usually, but also music and Spanish, and gym, too.  And lunch.

He does the best he can.  All the time.  So he can prove to himself that he is okay.  

‘Cause maybe nothing happened at all, even.

Maybe he’s totally fine.

(Under his desk, Levi pushes random numbers on his phone, even though it’s off.  Imagining what Pearl’s number could be.  Making up different ones.)

He thinks about what he could say:

_Dear Pearl,_

_I am sad._

_I am mad._

_I am everything._

_I am nothing._

He wouldn’t even need to tell her he was her brother.  

‘Cause she would just know.


	6. Francesca: Friday, May 25, 2018

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Francesca was 8, her adaptive gym teacher said she couldn’t earn ribbons on Track and Field Day. Luckily, her big brother, Jesus, is there to help.

Francesca walks home from school with Mama.  Even though she usually cares a lot about looking like a baby, today she doesn’t care at all.  She’s quiet.  Mama is too.  She asked, “Did you have a good day at school?” and Francesca lied and said she had.

How could she tell Mama the real truth?

When she gets home and gets into her room, she shuts the door hard and goes on her bed and covers her head with the pillow.  Wants to never come out ever.

Changing her name from Frankie to Francesca she thought would help things.  And it had, but only a little.  It hadn’t helped this.  

She tries cuddling in Mariana’s empty bed because sometimes it helps to imagine her sister there instead of off at college like she and Callie really are.  But even Mariana’s bed and the magical powers Francesca was sure it used to have don’t work.

All her dreams seem stupid now.

A dancer, with CP?  Really?  How could that ever be?  When this is the way her life really is?  An artist?  Yeah, she likes to color but so what?  So even what?

There’s a tap on her door.

“What?” Francesca calls.

“Hey, buddy?  What’s up, are you okay?  Thought we were gonna get your homework done ASAP so you’d have the weekend free,” Jesus calls through the door.

“You don’t have to,” she calls, letting him off the hook.  Jesus is 20.  It was just him and Mariana’s birthday last week.  They Skyped.  The point is, Jesus probably doesn’t want to be doing third grade homework.

“Can you come out and talk to me?” he asks.  “The door’s kinda freaking me out.”

Francesca sighs and gets off the bed.  She knows by now Jesus is really worried about things like closed doors and bedrooms and beds and all kinds of things.  So Francesca opens the door.  Looks up at him, still holding on to the handle.

“Why this face?” Jesus asks.

Francesca shrugs.

“Need privacy?  Should we hang out on the porch?” he asks.

Another shrug.  But it’s going down the stairs with their railing and their carpet pieces that reminds Francesca Jesus might be the perfect person to talk to about this after all.

She waits til they get outside and sit on the porch swing together.

Jesus swings them a little bit.

Francesca picks at her hangnail and looks at the plants on the porch.  Not at Jesus.  Because she might start crying.

“Buddy, I’m on your side, okay?  Whatever it is,” Jesus promises.

“You don’t like Anchor Beach,” Francesca points out.

“That’s true,” Jesus nods.  “I definitely don’t like Anchor Beach.  But let’s say you were having a problem at school…  I’d still wanna help.”

“You’re a grown up now, right?” she checks.

“Yeah…” Jesus nods again.

“So, if you came and talked to other adults?  They’d have to listen to you?” Francesca wonders.

“Are adults hassling you?” Jesus checks.  “Giving you a hard time?”

“This one.  Mrs. Robbins?  She’s my gym teacher.  And next week’s Track and Field Day.  And she told me when I was just about to leave gym today that I couldn’t get ribbons.”

“What do you mean?” Jesus asks.  

Francesca finally turns to look at him, her nose wrinkled like she can smell garbage.  “She said I could only get stickers.”

“Like…you have to get stickers but everybody else gets ribbons?” Jesus asks, his eyes serious.  

Francesca nods.  “I mean, she didn’t make anybody else stay at the end, just me.”

“Could you get anymore info?” Jesus asks, and Francesca loves how he knows how to ask questions that don’t make her feel like it was on her to do everything.  

“Well…I asked her why…even though, you know, I’m not supposed to talk back to teachers…” Francesca admits.

“That’s not talking back, buddy.  That’s asking a legit question,” Jesus reassures.

Francesca inches closer to Jesus, and he moves one arm.  Leaves it, in case Francesca might want to cuddle.  She does.

“Did she say anything back?” Jesus wonders, putting his arm around her.

“Mmm…just that like…some events had to be adapted?” Francesca says it like a question.  “I mean, she’s the teacher.  She makes the rules.  So maybe it’s fair this way…” Francesca says, trying to convince herself.

“But does it feel fair to you?” Jesus asks.

Francesca shakes her head.  Tries to mash down her tears that wanna come.

“You can let it out,” Jesus tells her, quiet.  “I can deal.”

Francesca sniffs once, and then it’s like all the tears in the world are there.  Falling out of her eyes.  Mama stops by but Jesus just says he’s got this, and then Mama keeps going in the house.

“I didn’t want Mama to know…” Francesca admits after a bit.

“No?” Jesus checks.

“Mm-mm,” Francesca confirms.  “‘Cause if I get Mama involved, all the kids will say - and maybe even Mrs. Robbins - that because Mama’s the vice principal, that’s the reason I got ribbons.”

“Come on,” Jesus says, standing up from the swing and offering his hand.

“Where?” Francesca asks.

“To talk to your teacher,” Jesus says.

“You don’t have a car.  Jude has it.” Francesca points out.

“So?” Jesus asks.

“So, you hate walking to Anchor Beach…” Francesca reminds him, just in case Jesus forgot.

“I’m doing okay.  I’ve got my meds, so I can stay calm,” he reassures.  “And we’re going together.  Not by ourselves.  That’s important.”

Finally, Frankie relents and takes Jesus’s hand.  They start walking down the sidewalk together.  It’s a quick walk, but Jesus lets them go Francesca’s speed (sloth) not Jesus’s (gazelle).

They get to school in 15 minutes not 3 like when Jude runs there with Francesca on his back.  Francesca checks on Jesus.  He seems okay.

“You’re not gonna yell, are you?” Francesca checks.  “Or, like, embarrass me?”

Jesus stops short of going inside.  He sits on a big log thing with her.  “Okay.  This is good.  Let’s talk this through.  What do you want to have happen inside?”

“For Mrs. Robbins to let me have red, white and blue ribbons like everybody else.  Not baby red, yellow and blue stickers.  And for it to be because she knows it’s fair not because Mama’s the principal or another reason like that.”

“Well, we can’t control what she does.  But we can control what we say.  I’m gonna go find Principal Sanchez.  It’s still Sanchez, right?” he double checks.

“Yeah,” Francesca nods.

They walk inside.  And Jesus stops in the office.  Principal Sanchez is still there.  

“Jesus Adams Foster.  To what do I owe this pleasure?” she asks, and it’s super weird because their principal never usually talks like that.  Plus?  Jesus wasn’t that good of a student at Anchor Beach.  He even said.  It’s because of what happened to him.  That everyone treats him different.

Kinda like how everyone treats  _her_  different.  Except for different reasons.

“We need to speak with you…and the third grade gym teacher.  A Mrs. Robbins?  Is she still here?” Jesus checks.

“She is not,” Principal Sanchez says after clicking buttons and checking on her phone.  “She left for the day.  What can I help you with?”

Jesus raises his eyebrows at Francesca.  Probably to see if it’s okay to tell the Principal what’s going on without Mrs. Robbins.  It actually makes Francesca feel better this way.  She nods.

“Have a seat,” the principal invites.

Francesca gulps.  She hates being in the principal’s office.  Having Jesus with her helps, but just a little.

They sit down.  She really wants to sit on Jesus’s lap or in his chair next to him, but Francesca tries to be brave and sits in her own chair.

“You wanna tell your principal what Mrs. Robbins said to you today?” Jesus asks.

Francesca takes a deep breath.  She keeps looking at Jesus because it’s way easier to talk to him than it is to talk to Principal Sanchez.

“She asked me to wait a minute after class.  So all the other kids left, and then she said, ‘ _Francesca, I have to let you know that you won’t be able to earn a red, white or blue ribbon like the other kids on Track and Field Day_.’”

Jesus looks concerned, and then he nods at her to keep going.  “Do you wanna share the rest?” he asks.

“You mean, like, when I asked why?” Francesca double-checks.

Jesus nods.

“So, I asked why…and she said, ‘ _Because we’re going to have to modify some of the events_.’”  

Francesca keeps looking at Jesus.  He nods again, for her to finish, if she wants.

“The last thing she said is, ‘ _But you’ll still be able to earn a red, yellow or blue sticker_!’”  Finally, feeling braver, Francesca turns to Principal Sanchez, “But stickers aren’t the same as ribbons.”

Principal Sanchez looks at Jesus.  “I’m sure you’re aware, we are a Charter school.”

“Yeah, I’m aware,” Jesus nods, like the principal said something obvious, which she did.  (Everybody knows Anchor Beach is a Charter School, it’s in the name!)

“So, I’m sure you know that while Charter schools are required by law to provide a fair and appropriate education to students with disabilities, a teacher is within her rights to make determinations on matters like this that don’t have to do with academia.”

Jesus shakes his head.  “I’m sorry.  I don’t follow.”

(Neither does Francesca.  Principal Sanchez uses way too many big words.)

“The students aren’t being graded on Track and Field Day,” Principal Sanchez says.  “As such, if Francesca’s not completing the events in the distance or time required to earn a ribbon, Mrs. Robbins is not legally obligated to provide her with one.  The stickers are a courtesy.”

Francesca doesn’t understand most of that, except that it sounds like Mrs. Robbins is going to be able to get away with giving Francesca baby stickers after all.

“The stickers are condescending,” Jesus says, his voice low and soft, but sure.  “And pitying.  And Francesca deserves to earn ribbons.  Like everyone else.”

“But it isn’t fair to the other kids,” Principal Sanchez objects.  “To have them know that there’s a child doing less work and getting rewarded for it?”

Francesca’s heart beats fast.  She knows that really is what the kids will think.

“It isn’t fair to Francesca,” Jesus maintains.  “Because, what you’re saying right now is…in order for her to have a chance at earning ribbons?  She’d have to finish events in unfair times. Do things unrealistic distances.  And that would take all the fun out of it.  She’d be working her tail off and come home exhausted!  Asking her to do these events without accommodating her is setting her up to fail.”

“We are accommodating her.” Principal Sanchez maintains.

“And punishing her for it,” Jesus insists.

Principal Sanchez raises her eyebrows.  

“You are.  You’re punishing her for needing help.  And that’s not a lesson I want my little sis learning.”

Francesca bites her lip.  She’s not so sure Jesus is gonna convince the principal.

“Come on,” he says, extending his hand.  

Francesca sighs and slides off the chair.  Takes Jesus’s hand.

“Anything else you wanna say?” Jesus asks.  “Or want me to say?”

Francesca turns, blinking back tears.  “Maybe the other kids will learn to help other kids.  To treat them with the same kind of respect and human stuff as everybody else.  You know…if you let me earn ribbons…”

Jesus says “good job” and squeezes her shoulders.  

They’re almost out the door, when Principal Sanchez says, “Wait.”

–

The next week, the sun is super hot in the sky.  All the kids are in their red shirts.  Mama’s here, but she’s watching all the kids.  Francesca glances at the sidelines.  Sees Jesus sitting by the edges with Dr. Hitchens, who is here just for fun, and for support for Jesus.  Even though, he’s too old to go see her now.

Jesus is here for Francesca.

She glances up at the bar above her.  (She’s so small she has to be lifted up.)  Mrs. Robbins says “Go!” and Francesca’s left alone on the bar, hanging on for as long as she can.  Jesus is cheering super loud on the sidelines.

At first it’s so super hard, Francesca’s sure she’s gonna fall, and then it gets easier.  She thinks about the note Principal Sanchez wrote that said Mrs. Robbins needed to give Francesca ribbons the same as other kids.  It was signed in her loopy cursive.  And dated, and had her email and office number, too, for if Mrs. Robbins had questions.

_Be a sloth, Francesca.  Be a sloth. Sloths are so good at hanging and you’re so good at hanging, you could hang out here all day._

On Monday, everything had changed.  Mrs. Robbins was like, “My mistake, Francesca.  You’ll earn ribbons.”

She’s still hanging on, but it’s getting harder.  All the kids are cheering and it’s loud in her ears.  But she can hear Jesus the loudest.

When her arms give out, Mrs. Robbins is there to lift her down.

She waits until Francesca’s steady on her feet and announces loud enough for everybody to hear:

“1 minute and 27 seconds!  That’s a record, my dear!” Mrs. Robbins cheers.

The whole crowd of all the other kids are cheering, too, so Mrs. Robbins can’t hear Francesca ask at first.

“What’s that?” she wonders.

“With help?  Is it because you adapted for me?” Francesca checks.

“No way.  You hung out up there longer than any other student.”

It takes a minute for the pieces to click.  She went last.

“Wait.  So, I won?  For real?  I won this?” she asks.

“For real, you won this!  Come over here and get your ribbon!”

But Francesca runs past Mrs. Robbins at the ribbon-table and right to Jesus who hugs her so tight.

“Jesus!  I won!  I set the record!  I hung by my arms the longest in the whole school!” Francesca exclaims.

“I am so proud of you!  So, so proud!  Get up there!  Go get your ribbon!” Jesus says, smiling big at her.

She turns, and goes to the table.  And gets her real, actual ribbon she earned herself.

Everyone’s clapping.  

But she runs back to Jesus for another hug.

He asks Dr. Hitchens and Francesca if it’s okay for the doc to take a picture of him and Francesca and her first place arm hang ribbon.

Francesca says, “You bet it is.”

She presses her face right against Jesus’s.  

Holds up her ribbon.

Smiles.

It’s the best day.

 


End file.
